Looking deeply at the damp drudgery eating the walls, I push my hand completely through, there is no sound, no one is around except the dripping twinkle of the curse, a tarnished complexity stooped in historical depth, out of focus observing a benign despair, I climb a weakened stair that crumbles to the floor below yet not a soul will miss, water trickles down the rain washed brow, I can see now, ‘tis a day that is meant to be, I can hear the shadows in thy distant pass fading away from me, yet without choice, I shall let it be.
Friday, 8 October 2021
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The Wild, Wild, West
The Oregon trail in west Texas, west. the host is the land, growing trees abreast It bears the name wild.. the wild Wild West always; will ...

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Deep as an arrow, wounded by thy words of bitter resentment, cut in throes of ecstasy, same toxicity, hurt on the right, tr...
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